


Hops and Musk

by Stegowrites



Category: Street Fighter
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 13:36:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15819936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stegowrites/pseuds/Stegowrites
Summary: Guile and Nash have a relaxing, intimate moment after training on a hot summer day. In which Guile curses like a sailor.





	Hops and Musk

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea why it took me so long to decide to upload this here, considering that GuileNash is my favorite Street Fighter ship of all time. Prior to this story, I hadn't written much of anything for years, and the first thing I did when I came back to writing was dish out a hardcore porn fic! It might not be quite as polished as my more recent works, but hey, I'm still proud of it!

The beer bottle let out a sharp _hiss_ as the metal cap was pried off, and with it, a wisp of pallid vapor emerged from the now exposed opening at its tip.

Guile took a long swig of the ale, downing nearly half of it in just a few hard gulps. The coldness was refreshing, though his taste buds prickled at the bitter flavor of it. He slouched back onto the mattress and ran the cool, tinted glass over his face, a mix of sweat and condensation forming a glossy layer against his cheeks.

Nash entered the room then, his orange vest draped over one arm. Orange was an… interesting color choice, Guile had thought. Not orange like a sunset, or orange like a campfire, but a vibrant orange often found on hazard signs, or the shells on insects of poisonous disposition. It was an color that warned: _fuck with me at your own risk_.

And damned if Nash wasn’t a risk that Guile was willing to take.

He watched Nash pace across the room, all the while eyeing the fresh blotches of blue and purple on his otherwise peachy skin that betrayed his partner’s participation in their recent sparring match. Guile observed the curves of his muscles, how they flinched with the tension of mild discomfort from aggressive repetition. He gazed at Nash’s pink-tinged lips, parted in an effort to catch a breath, and then their eyes met.

“Hey, Nash…”

“…Yeah?”

“Ya look like **_shit_**.”

Nash’s efforts to steady his breathing were disrupted by an involuntary guffaw, “You should see the _other guy_.”

“Heh, _jackass_ ,” Guile snorted between sips. It was true, though; he could feel the ugly welt swelling across his chest from where Nash had snapped the air against it with great force. Even now, his ears rung with the lingering tinnitus thanks to the point-blank Sonicboom.

Nash hung his vest over the back of a chair, then joined Guile on the bed, its metal springs crying out under the pressure of both of their muscular weight. He leaned in close, their foreheads all but touching. A curl of blond hair fell against the side of Guile’s neck, sliding down to his tattooed shoulder when Nash tilted his head to whisper into his ear.

“ _You kiss your superior officer with that mouth, soldier?_ ”

Guile laid the beer bottle between his thighs, freeing up both hands to reach behind Nash’s head. His reply was a low, seductively taunting growl.

“Well, _**sir**_ , if you _insist_ …”

He could swear that the short quills of hair on the back of Nash’s scalp stood on end whenever he kissed him. The man’s mouth was wet with saliva and just the faintest hint of blood, although _Guile_ was the one who had been punched in the jaw. Not that the ache of it was enough of a reason to stop. Not when Nash moaned so _fucking_ deeply into his mouth.

Guile shivered when their tongues made contact, and he inhaled sharply–-the scent of hops and musk. The ringing in his ears was met with the _clink_ of their dogtags touching and the soft sifting of fabric beneath them. He could feel Nash’s hands, calloused and warm against his collarbone, sliding so slowly down his tight-fitting tank top. Fingertips lingered on his chest, tracing the outline of the wound there with surprising delicateness.

“Sorry about that…” Nash breathed through their kisses.  


“It’s fine,” Guile insisted, “you should see the other guy…”  


“Oh, I have. He’s _gorgeous_.”  


“Heh. Easy there, _Vega_.”  


The kiss was finally broken by their laughter, wherein Nash slipped his hand between Guile’s legs for that still-cold beer. Guile watched him finish the drink off, unable to help but bite his lip fiercely throughout the sight.

“Hey,” Nash suggested, “why don’t you and I finish up here and then kick an evil fucking dictator’s ass into next Tuesday?”  


-

Nash spread his thighs over Guile’s lap, effectively straddling his hips. He loomed over him, his posture tense in what may have been an attempt to appear imposing. With his vest off, it was possible for one to notice the slight variation in skin tone where his chest and arms had been slightly tanned by sun exposure. His cheeks were flushed, possibly pink from a sunburn, but the heaviness of his breathing and the fat bulge between his legs suggested otherwise.

Even with all his sweat, bruises, and deadly potential, Nash _was_ , in fact, fucking _gorgeous_. He stared down at Guile through the smudged lenses of glasses that were now just slightly off-center after their fervent kissing. He stared down at him, expectantly, and raised the empty beer bottle to his lips.

The tip of his tongue swirled around the opening, then _slowly_ dragged back down along the narrow shaft. Thick globs of saliva smeared against his face, and he **not once** broke eye contact. 

Guile took the hint. He was damned horny himself. He carefully unfastened his camo-print pants, at least to the best of his ability, being pinned beneath the other man. Nash loosened the clasp on his own belt--one handed, of course, as he was still making a show of fellating the beer.

At this point, Guile's tank top was sticky with sweat, and so he made to remove it. The green fabric peeled off from his abdomen awkwardly, and he winced with a hiss of " _shit!_ " when pulling it over his chest caused it to rub against the raw crescent of injured skin that arched in a hot pink between his nipples. It was in no way his intention to be dramatic; he'd had worse injuries (Nash had definitely been holding back when they sparred today), but it sure did sting like a bitch.

He dropped the wet shirt in a heap beside the bed, where apparently the empty glass bottle had come to rest as well. By this time, Nash's cargo pants were sliding off his hips, his mouth making its way down Guile's broad neck. Guile stroked himself gently once his cock was freed from his trousers, already somewhat erect from their acts of intimacy.

Nash's name rolled from his lips in a low, drawn-out tone that made it sound longer than it was, a gravelly texture giving the illusion of extra syllables. It was hardly a name so much as it was a _feeling_ when he spoke it like that. Right now, it was the most powerful, most important word on his mind, deserving of the same intensity with which he swore when Nash's tongue licked across the stinging burn on his pecs.

"NASH. FUCK."

Nash pulled back a bit, glancing apologetically into his lover's eyes. After a moment, Guile gave him a reassuring nudge to the back of his head, urging him to continue--with added caution. For a moment, he remained tense, until Nash's lips settled on one side, parting around his firm nipple.

Every flick of his tongue sent chills trickling down his spine, giving a sensation of his body melting into the mattress. The groan of the bedframe and his deep growls of pleasure were nearly indistinguishable. His grip on his cock tightened, and as Nash moved further down, he could feel the head grind against Nash's firm abs, the cool metal of his tags, the soft pressure of his lips...

Nash hesitated, but only long enough to push his glasses up and curl a stray strand of hair behind his ear. When he resumed the blowjob, it was with the same intensity with which they had made out only minutes before. And with a similar sensation as well--with all the wetness and moaning. His tongue made one long motion from base to tip, where it then lingered a moment to savor the taste of pre-cum.

Guile panted something that sounded vaguely of "holy shit," his hands clenched tightly to the bed as if it were the only thing keeping him on this plane of existence. It was everything in his power to not thrust into the back of Nash's throat, but his hips still bucked slightly, causing the other man to sputter out a soft gag. His mouth lifted quickly from Guile's cock, but he used his hand to continue where it had left off. The wet sounds were met by Guile's low growls and the occasional needy whimper. His face was hued in a deep pink flush that spread all the way down to his deeply rising and falling chest. 

He thought of the wound on his chest as Nash's handjob picked up speed. It made him more than a little nervous to be so aware of what the man could do, the level of trust that was required when one's partner could so easily break the sound barrier with his bare hands.

Yet... It was oddly _tantalizing._

"Close...?" Nash cooed, nuzzling the wiry golden hairs at the base.

Guile nodded, his aching jaw clenched too tightly to mutter any sort of witty response.

Nash's smile just then could have driven him over the edge, but he somehow managed to hold out until the man had completely enveloped his length. As he came hard into Nash's mouth, he could have sworn he saw stars. It was a dizzying sensation, like taking a blow to the head, but infinitely more pleasurable.

When the moment had passed, he found himself breathing heavily, his heart pounding as if to escape with great force. His throat was strained, although he didn't recall crying out in ecstasy. Through half-closed eyes, he watched Nash pull slowly and gently from his cock with an audible swallow.

Nash straightened his back, the joints in his neck and shoulders popping softly with relief. He slid his hair and glasses back to their usual positions, and if it weren't for his nakedness and the thick bead of cum that he licked from his lips, one might not have suspected that he had done anything in the past few minutes at all.

Guile sat upright to kiss him again, catching the taste and the scent of bitterness and salt. It was a sloppy kiss, as he was still recovering from the orgasm, but the messiness of it seemed to drive Nash wild.

Without any request or warning, Guile clenched his fist around Nash's firm cock and began stroking it with rough, uneven gestures. What his shaft lacked in thickness, it made up for in length, and Guile had the drive to pleasure every inch of it.

Nash whined at his touch, throwing his head back and thrusting upward into his palm. His hands gripped at Guile's hair in a way that would surely take hours to brush back into position, but that was not a compelling enough excuse for him to stop at this point. 

" _Goddamn_ , you are so beautiful," Guile breathed, unsure if the compliment was even audible over the sound of Nash panting his name between cries of "fuck!" and " _yes_."

With his other hand, he reached under to cup his plump, tense balls. Nash shuddered at the sensation of the pressure, the hot tingling intensifying with every stroke. Guile could feel fingernails against his scalp, disheveling his hair into an even further mess, although his appearance wasn’t something that would cross his mind again until later, once the sweat and moaning and prickling heat were well over with for the day.

He pressed his lips to Nash's throat, feeling the slight vibrations when the man growled with orgasm. Hot ejaculate splashed upon his chest in thick globs, the stickiness of it a minor annoyance among the cool, slick sweat that shone from his pores.

With one last shudder and sigh, Nash's body wilted into Guile's embrace. The two of them then slowly wilted into the bed together, in a delicate wave of soft kisses and caressing of hair.


End file.
